


Rattle Your Chains if you Loved Being Free

by Introvertedintellect350



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hunter is a bike messenger, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parkour, Tracers AU, and Bobbi is a badass as usual, conflicted feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introvertedintellect350/pseuds/Introvertedintellect350
Summary: Bike messenger Lance Hunter lands himself in hot water with one of the most dangerous gangs in New York and is struggling to pay off his debt, when he runs into a woman that works with a crew doing parkour to pull off heists. Desperate to get out from under Hydra’s thumb, he asks to join them and in doing so, changes his entire world.An AU based off the movie Tracers (2015).
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off the movie Tracers (2015), but I'll take my own creative liberties to make the story mine. You do not need to have seen, or even know about, the movie in order to understand this story because as I said, I'm making it my own and am supplanting everyone from AoS into this universe.

The thing about the city was that it never slept. Never. It was always going, moving forward, changing, but so much of it seeming to stay the same even as time wore on. That’s what Hunter liked about New York, he thought as he biked his way through the crowded streets, swerving to narrowly avoid cars and pedestrians alike, his singular goal in mind. 

Deliver the package resting in his backpack as quickly as he could, then return to the shop to receive another order. 

He knew his way across the streets of New York like the back of his hand, the bike an extension of his own body as he pushed faster, faster, flying down the road. He was pedaling alongside a bus fast enough to be the same speed as it crossed an intersection. Then, out of nowhere a taxi swerved in front of him to avoid a person who had dropped onto the street from out of thin air and suddenly he was far too close to stop in time. He went crashing handlebars first into the hood, curses flying from his mouth as he slid over the car to land on the other side, having knocked the person in front of the cab down with him. 

The breath was knocked forcefully out of him as he landed face-first directly atop the other person, the helmet on his head having slid uncomfortably far backwards. For a moment neither of them moved, then Hunter began lifting himself up to see who had caused the accident, ready to curse them up and down for ruining his bike and causing a massive traffic jam. 

The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stared up at him and all the cutting words immediately died on his tongue as he found her face inches away from his own. He froze. She then ducked underneath his arm and pushed him off, asking if he was okay whilst getting to her feet. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright,” Hunter replied, still sitting on the pavement catching his breath and adjusting his helmet. 

“Sorry about your bike,” the woman pulled the brim of her cap down lower on her head, glancing behind them as police shouted over the noise of blaring horns and sirens. Hunter could only stare as she turned and ran, taking immediately to the roofs of the cars that lined the street until she vaulted up and over a U-Haul like it was nothing, then disappeared from view.

* * *

Fast-paced music pumped in his ears through his headphones as Hunter bent over the phone in his hands, absorbed in a YouTube video of people doing parkour. He sat now in the open space of _Lafayette Courier’s_ building on a bike parking stand where other bike messengers milled around. He was pretty sure parkour was what the woman had been doing when she sprinted away from the accident, and it all looked so effortless. They moved with the ease and grace of a dancer, but the things they were doing almost seemed to defy gravity with the way they jumped and flipped between buildings and over fences and cars. He was enamored with the way they moved. 

He startled as a hand slapped his arm – someone was trying to get his attention. Pulling the earbuds from his ears, he looked up to see his boss holding out a paycheck. 

“You want this, or not?” Coulson waved it in front of him. 

“’Course I do. Thanks,” Hunter took it from him and tore it open. As he pulled the check out of the envelope, his heart sank. His check was a measly four-hundred and eighty-three dollars. He looked up, “I need more runs, Coulson.” 

“You know I’m always happy to help you out Hunter, but you need a bike first.” Coulson sent a meaningful look at the trashed bike at his feet, handlebars bent the wrong way and the front wheel warped beyond repair. “Got anyone who might loan you one?” 

Hunter looked out to the other messengers now sitting around a large table chatting, laughing, playing a game of cards, and he sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. All of them needed their own bikes, and besides, he wasn’t close enough to any of them to ask for a favor. Coulson looked on sympathetically. 

“Hey,” Coulson rested a hand briefly on his shoulder and Hunter met his warm gaze. “Keep your chin up, it’ll get better.” 

Hunter wanted to scoff at his words, but simply nodded, giving him a small smile that felt more like a grimace. He watched as Coulson nodded at him, then walked away, and Hunter sighed and pushed off the bike rack. He picked up his now good-for-nothing bike and started back towards his place, anger and frustration roiling in his chest. 

As he walked along the sidewalk of a busy street, bike on one shoulder and backpack slung on the other, he heard a voice aimed in his direction coming from behind and his stomach dropped. 

“Well well, where’ve you been, hm?” Holden Radcliffe’s voice taunted as the bike was shoved off his shoulder and Hunter was pushed roughly into a small alleyway between two buildings. His back against the rough stucco wall, he glared at Radcliffe, then at the man who had pushed him into the alley, Nathaniel Malick. He couldn’t hate their ugly bloody mugs any more than in that moment. 

“What’ve we got here?” Radcliffe clicked his tongue, plucking the check from his hands and opening the envelope. 

“Nothing.” Hunter could hear his own dejection as he spoke, watching Radcliffe look at the numbers. 

“Sure looks like it to me. What, did you forget about us?” Radcliffe glanced up at him curiously.

“I didn’t forget!” Hunter gestured vaguely to the check, leaning up from the wall, “I didn’t – I just got that, alright?” 

“Hm. What else’ve you got?” 

“Come on,” Hunter pleaded, frustrated and angry. “C’mon, mate.” 

When Radcliffe just looked at him and pulled on his shoulder, he reluctantly twisted so he could pull the wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. Radcliffe tossed his wallet to Nathaniel, who caught and opened it. 

_“Nine dollars?”_ Malick scoffed, chuckling as he pulled out the pathetic wad of bills. 

“That’s all you’ve got?” Radcliffe arched a brow at him, “Where’s all your money going?”

“To _you guys!_ ” Hunter said exasperatedly, gesturing to the men in front of him. 

Radcliffe stared at him for a moment and Hunter held his gaze, not willing to back down. Holden chuckled and let his gaze drop. “You came to us for a loan, right, Hunter? You knew and accepted the terms: fifteen-hundred on the first of each month, _every_ month?”

“I know, I know.” Hunter nodded, sighing. “I’m sorry I missed a payment, it won’t – it won’t happen again, alright?” 

“That’s right, it won’t,” Radcliffe nodded decisively. He held out the check and a pen, “Now, sign this, if you would.”

Hunter looked down at it, not wanting to believe what was happening. “I owe somebody _rent_ , I can’t just –"

“What, you think I’m doin’ this for fun?” Holden cut him off, thrusting the paper into his hand. “This is my job; I’m doing what I have to. I have a boss just like you have a boss. Now just – sign it, won’t you?” 

Hunter growled under his breath; lips pressed together tightly into a thin line. “Fine.” He snatched the pen and the check from Radcliffe, who offered his back for him to sign on. He knew he had no choice – he had to repay the loan or else there’d be hell to pay. As in, threat-of-death hell. So, he did what was asked and signed the measly check of four-hundred odd dollars that could’ve gone to rent over to Radcliffe. 

Radcliffe smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder in what would appear outwardly as a friendly gesture – though Hunter knew it was anything but. There was a thinly veiled threat glistening in his words as he said, “You’ve been late twice now and that makes us nervous. You still owe fifteen thousand, Hunter.” He tucked the envelope into his back pocket and stepped out of the alleyway, looking back at him over his shoulder. “And just – _don’t_ miss another payment.” 

“I bloody won’t,” Hunter replied, shaking his head. His stomach churned with anger, fear, humiliation. He watched as Radcliffe and Malick walked away, then glared down at his bike. His useless fucking bike. Huffing out an angry breath, he picked it up and tossed it in the dumpster in front of the alley feeling more hopeless than ever. He shook his head and walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets as he headed for the nearest bus stop. They may have taken his cash, but he still had his bus pass which, thankfully, he’d paid up-front for six months. 

The scenery passed by as the bus wove through suburbs and business districts alike. They passed fenced in basketball courts, full of people, trees lining quieter streets that held families with children playing in the front lawns, tall skyscrapers and people walking along busy with phone calls and business emails, until they came to a suburb near his place, and Hunter got off. He walked down the quiet lane, grateful that at least he had a place to stay. 

As he walked up to the house he saw Flint, armed in elbow and knee pads as well as a helmet, riding down the driveway on his skateboard. He stopped, tried to flip it, and failed. Hunter broke into a jog to stop the skateboard from gliding into the street, then reached over to help the boy to his feet. “You alright?” 

Flint nodded, “Yeah.” he winced as he stood, but Hunter dusted him off and gave him a grin. 

“Hey, where’s your bike?” 

“I, uh, hit a pothole,” Hunter shrugged, examining the skateboard in his hands, testing the wheels. “But you’ve got bigger problems. C’mon.” He led the way up the driveway and into the garage off the house, lifting the rolling door open. His 1967 Pontiac GTO sat in the middle of the garage, gathering dust as usual. There was a workbench along the wall to the right, and in the back-left corner, a small room that had been made into his bedroom. It was small, but he was grateful for it. 

“When are we going for a ride?” Flint asked hopefully as Hunter set the skateboard upside down on his workbench. 

“Car’s still broken, mate. Haven’t had time to work on it. Plus, I don’t have the money for new parts I need to fix it.” Hunter replied, grabbing a can of oil to lube up the wheels, then a screwdriver to make sure everything was secure. One of the wheels was a bit loose, so he tightened it. 

“Maybe you oughtta sell it.” Flint picked up the little hot-wheels model of his car from the shelf above the workbench, fiddling with it. 

Hunter glanced at him, then at the car behind him with a sigh. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Flint?” a woman’s voice from outside the garage called, and footsteps sounded across the concrete. It was Flint’s mum, and also his landlady who had graciously allowed him to live in her garage. 

“Thanks, Hunter.” Flint smiled at him as he handed him the skateboard and answered his mum’s call. 

“You’re welcome,” Hunter smiled back, watching Elena walk towards them. 

“I told you to give Lance his space.” Elena warned her son, pointing down the driveway. 

“Chill, mom, it’s all good.” Flint replied with a shrug and an eye-roll. Elena rolled her eyes back, and shook her head, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips as he skated past her. “Sorry about that,” she apologized, looking at Hunter. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Hunter shook his head and smiled, “he’s a good kid.” 

As Elena turned to follow her son inside, Hunter stopped her. “Hey, Elena. Could I talk to you for a second?” When she stopped and turned back towards him, her face fell when she saw the expression on his. “Er, I’m gonna be a little late on the rent this month. I’m sorry. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.” He felt horrid, telling the woman who had taken him in that he couldn’t make the rent, which was by any standard extremely reasonably priced. 

“I know you have a good head on your shoulders, Lance, and you’ll get it to me. But we’re really hurting this month.” she replied, sounding understanding but firm. “Just do your best, alright?” 

Hunter nodded, “’Course. I will.” Guilt surged through him, feeling worse and worse about letting down those who needed money from him. Especially Elena and Flint. And now he didn’t have any way to make money, _or_ get around the city without taking a bus. He sighed, turning to head back into the garage as Elena went inside, and scrubbed his hands down his face with a groan. For a moment he just stared at his car that took up most of the room in the shop, then slid his backpack off his shoulders and walked towards his bedroom to change out of his dirty, sweaty clothes. He’d work on the Pontiac tonight, try to get it running. Working on it always made him feel better, even if the progress he made on actually _fixing_ the bloody thing was slow. 

Hours passed as Hunter opened the bonnet, turned on the floodlight, and got to work. He found he had more working parts than he thought he did and was able to get his hands on several parts strewn about the shop that went directly towards the engine that hadn’t worked for years. He felt hope creeping into his bones as he twisted wrenches and attached various fittings and greased parts of the engine that needed help. 

Consulting the restoration guide for 1964-1972 Pontiac GTO’s, it opened easily to a page in the middle of the book he didn’t need. He’d nearly turned the page, until he saw a photo of him and his dad standing next to the very car he was currently working on – except the car in the picture was in pristine condition, shining beautifully. His gut twisted hard as he saw his many years younger self smiling broadly at the camera, arm around his dad’s waist whilst his dad’s arm was laid across his shoulders. They both looked happy, carefree. Scoffing lightly, Hunter tossed the picture aside and resumed his search of the guidebook. 

It wasn’t until around two AM when he finally dusted off his hands and slid into the battered driver’s seat to turn the key, hoping and praying that this would be the time it would run. “C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon_ ,” he muttered under his breath as it cranked a couple of times. Then, to his utter delight, the engine roared to life. “Oh, you absolute beauty!” he laughed, hands drumming on the steering wheel, elation filling him up. It was time to see what this thing could do. 

Hopping out of the car, he rolled up the garage door and got back into the car. He shifted into drive and it _died,_ killing all his hope and happiness with it. Sinking feeling returning to his chest, he turned and held the key, listening to the engine crank and crank until finally giving up. Cursing under his breath, he slammed his hands down on the steering wheel in frustration and hung his head. As hopelessness threatened to drown him once again, he slid until he could rest his head on the back of the seat and close his eyes. He just needed some rest, then he could figure out why the engine hadn’t started up again. 

Just a few minute siesta, that was all. 

Eyes heavy, Hunter sighed and tried to relax, the weight of the day dragging him down. He was so tired. . .but he had to solve at least _one_ problem today, or else he was a waste. Useless. Stupid. 

His last coherent thought was how bright the floodlight was, shining through the grimy windshield into his eyes despite them being closed – and then he was asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

There were too many _goddamned flies!_

Hunter swatted at the swarm around his head, growing increasingly agitated. They’d be there for a few seconds, then the infuriating buzzing would stop, then it would be back with a vengeance.

 _Wait._ He froze, straining his ears as they noticed several notes of an unrecognizable song. Now there was _music?_

Confusion curdled Hunter’s brain for roughly five more seconds until he was jerked into reality with a start. His phone. His phone was ringing, buzzing in the cupholder of the car where he’d set it earlier that night. Sunlight now streamed in through the wide-open garage door, piercing into his bleary eyes like daggers. He rubbed them with one hand, and answered his phone with the other. 

“Yeah?” 

_“You coming in today, or not?”_ Coulson asked from the other end of the line. 

As Hunter gradually woke up, he began collecting his thoughts. “What’re you talking about? D’you – do you not ‘member?” His bike was trashed – or had his boss forgotten already? 

_“Then what do you want me to do with your new bike, just let some kid take it for a spin?”_

“What new bike?” Hunter didn’t have enough brain power to even try to puzzle out what he was saying. He hadn’t gotten a new bike, not between throwing his in the trash and taking the bus home. 

_“The one your girlfriend dropped off for you this morning.”_

He could hear the knowing grin in Coulson’s voice – clearly, he knew something Hunter didn’t. Resisting the urge to fire back a sarcastic reply, he hung up and made his way to work as quickly as possible.

* * *

_Ride safe._

Hunter snatched up the note taped to the seat of the bike, frowning in confusion. He looked down at the bike, then up at the circle of guys gathered around him, admiring the brand-new, obviously expensive deep red bike. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He stated flatly, and one of the guys snickered. 

“ _Sure_ you don’t.” 

Well. The only obvious thing to do with a new bike was to break it in. Someone wanted to see him succeed – that was a first. He wasn’t about to let it go to waste. So, he gathered his list of deliveries to be made and the files that went with it and hopped on. 

He must be flying; he was sure of it. Once again he was sailing down the streets of New York, dodging cars and pedestrians and buses with nimble grace. His new bike felt lighter than air beneath him as he pedaled hard, still able to keep in complete control at top speeds. This was _loads_ better than his old one. Oh, the things he could do with a bike like this. 

To test the limits of the new bike and of his own prowess, he found a staircase and rode down it; then as he found himself back between taxis on a crowded lane, backed up to a parked car and rolled backwards over the hood, landing lightly on the wheels of his bike onto a concrete sidewalk out of the traffic. He grinned, taking off once again. 

Sometime around late morning he found himself walking through a park, allowing himself a water break after having made a few deliveries. Looking to his left, off the path he was walking along, he saw a group of people doing what he could only assume was parkour atop a hill on which sat several large boulders. Curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over. A woman crouched on top of the boulder closest to him, wearing loose clothing, hair in a braid, and was out of breath but smiling. She looked down at him, eyebrows raised in a silent question. 

“There any other groups out here who do what you guys do?” Hunter asked, hands twisting on the handlebars of his bike. 

The woman nodded, pointing out to the rest of the city. “Sure, lots. You just gotta be lucky enough to find us where you can reach us.” She winked at him, grinning. 

“Looks like I was lucky enough now,” Hunter chuckled, and she nodded. “There ah, any specific areas I the city I could find others?” 

She shook her head, “Nah, we’re everywhere, man. This is New York, you can find us anywhere from rooftops to climbing walls to jumping around on boulders like this. Like I said – just gotta get lucky. Good luck!” Then she stood, flashing him another confident grin before rejoining her group several boulders away. Once again, Hunter was struck with how effortless it all looked. 

It was around midway when he was taking a break for lunch that he saw _her_. The woman who’d trashed his bike, but then sent him a new one as an apology gift, or something. She was wearing the same black zippered jumper as when they’d met, and he recognized her blonde hair and the way she was jumping over the concrete barriers across the park like it was nothing. 

“Hey!” He called out, and she turned to look at him, an unhappy expression clouding her features. Immediately, she broke into a run away from him, and Hunter hopped on his bike to catch up to her. What was her _deal?_ She causes an accident, wrecks his bike, then gives him a new bike (at least, he assumed it was her – no one else knew about the wreck aside from his co workers and _they_ sure as hell wouldn’t buy him a new bike), and then runs away from him the moment she sets eyes on him again? 

He chased her out of the park and into a busy street, cars honking as they had to skid to a stop to avoid hitting them. He didn’t have time to apologize, just swerved around them and around a large mobile construction crane parked along the side of the road. He skidded to a stop as she began to climb, landing in the basket at the end of the crane arm extended fifteen feet or so up and turned to look down at him. 

Hunter chained his bike to the nearest lamppost and stood at the bottom of the crane, looking up at her. 

“What do you want?” She asked accusingly. 

“To – to say thank you?” Hunter replied. 

“For what?” She asked, shaking her head exasperatedly. 

“Whaddya mean for what?” Hunter asked, gesturing to the bike behind him. “For the bike you got me!” 

“You’re welcome.” She answered shortly, turning then, as if she was about to leave. Hunter had the sense if he didn’t say something now, he’d never see her again. 

“Wait - do you uh, how’d you learn how to do parkour?” Hunter asked, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out. He was _burning_ with questions and curiosity about this girl and what she did. 

She turned back around and looked down at him, giving him a scoff and a chuckle. 

“What, did I say it wrong?” 

“I gotta go.” She shook her head. 

“Wait.” Hunter tried in vain again, “What’s your name? Do you ride?” 

“No. Bike’s a ball and chain.”

Defensiveness for his craft welled up in her dismissal of the bike, “Oh, yeah? Well. . . anyone can go out and climb. . .” Hunter gestured at the construction crane vaguely, “this thing.” 

Her eyebrows quirked up in amusement, “I’d like to see that.” She sounded wholly unimpressed but gestured towards him and the crane. He took than as an invitation. 

“Alright.” Hunter sized up the crane, suddenly realizing how large it was. He wouldn’t let intimidation get the better of him, he could totally climb a crane, right? Right. 

He shook out his hands, then hopped up onto the flat base of the crane, scaling it until he was walking up the arm. Halfway up, his gaze dropped to the ground beneath him and vertigo threatened to topple him over. He crouched, holding onto the sides of the arm for support, but continuing to creep forward. From above him he heard, “Maybe you should just stick to the bike.” 

He wouldn’t be outdone by some girl who didn’t even know him but thought she was better than him. He steeled himself, and with a decisive breath, stood fully on his feet. “Ah, fuck it.” Hunter muttered to himself, judging the distance left he had to climb, and broke into a jog the rest of the way, jumping into the basket beside her. She leaned against the opposite side; arms crossed. He smirked, “I’m Hunter – well, _Lance_ Hunter, technically. But call me Lance and you’ll get drop kicked.” 

“Bobbi. Call me Barbara and you’ll get a nice shiner.” 

Hunter nodded, tucking away the information for later. “Care to show me something else?” He asked, as they swayed in the air next to a concrete parking garage that lacked walls. 

Bobbi quirked her eyebrows and pushed him aside, pushing herself up and over the railing of the crane’s basket and onto whatever level of the parking garage the crane had been raised to. Hunter estimated they were about three levels up. He watched as she ran up the staircase, and quickly followed her, though not nearly as gracefully. They ran up several more levels until they reached a landing with several cars parked in the space. He skidded to a stop alongside a car but Bobbi continued, leaping onto the bonnet and making her way across the line of six or so cars parked there, using the concrete posts that were set at an angle to jump from bonnet to bonnet until she landed on the roof of the last car in the row and turned to face him. 

Hunter knew the challenge she’d set for him, and with little hesitation attempted to follow her lead. Up onto the bonnet of the first car, then the roof of the second, then another roof. He felt unsure in his footing, watching his feet as he jumped. 

He made it four cars until his feet came out from underneath him with no warning, sliding on the slippery metal as he slammed flat on the roof and promptly rolled off, landing painfully on the concrete. He groaned, rolling onto his back. Bobbi looked down at him, crouched on the roof of the car just beyond. 

“You gotta learn how to see.” 

“I can see just bloody fine.” Hunter replied, affronted, and clutching his side in pain. Turned out, landing on one’s face on the roof of a car hurt like hell. 

“If you want to vault the car, don’t look at the car. Look where the car _isn’t.”_ Bobbi continued. 

“Alright,” Hunter nodded as if that had made any sense. He held out his hand, hoping to get a hand up, but she shook her head and abruptly took off, running straight for the massive empty square of space in the middle of the parking garage and disappeared over the edge.

“What the-” Alarm shot through Hunter and he leapt to his feet, forgetting for a moment about the pain in his body and ran to the edge, peering down. He could see the levels of the garage going down, becoming darker with each level and he scoffed. No _way_ she could jump across from that level to the one below, that was like. . . thirty feet or more. But even if she could. . _how?_

Quickly, he made his way back to the staircase, checking the level below for some splattered remains of the woman he’d just met. To his shock, she was standing on the other side, completely unharmed. “Wait-” He called, skidding to a stop and catching her eye. “How’d you get over there?” 

“Nice to meet you, Hunter,” Bobbi replied with a mocking salute, and turned to walk away when voices from behind him spoke up. 

“Who are you?” 

Hunter turned to see who had spoken to see a tall, intimidating looking man walking towards him, two other men following slightly behind. As they stepped up to him, Bobbi called out indignantly, “What’re you doing here, Mack?” 

“Just looking out for you, Bobbi.” Mack replied, sounding much less concerned than Bobbi did. 

“So what, you’re just _spying_ on me now?” 

“You’re working out alone?” Mack ignored her question, answering with one of his own. 

“So what if I am?” Bobbi replied, jutting out her chin and crossing her arms. 

“You gotta be careful, that’s all.” 

“Stay off my ass, Mack!” Bobbi sounded exasperated, almost upset. 

“Who is this guy?” The man to the right of Mack asked, nodding at Hunter then glancing at Bobbi. Hunter looked him over, noticing the short, dirty blonde hair and cleanly cut beard and mustache. He looked sure of himself, confident. Glancing to the left of Mack, he saw a man with curly brown hair and some stubble shadowing his jaw. He seemed just as sure of himself. 

“He’s nobody.” Bobbi replied, sounding vaguely like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be. 

“Haven’t seen you around.” Mack nodded to Hunter. 

“Haven’t been around.” Hunter shrugged, wondering what these three guys and Bobbi had in common. Were they all in the same parkour group? 

“Where’d you find this guy?” The man to the right of Mack spoke again. 

“He found me.” 

“You following her?” Mack asked, suddenly bristling. Hunter sensed a deep protectiveness between Mack and Bobbi. 

“No, no.” Hunter shook his head, stepping back and raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Just saw her in the park, thought what she was doing was neat.” 

“You know. . .” Mack stepped forward, hovering now intimidatingly over him, “this is pretty dangerous stuff. You get hurt if you don’t know what you’re doing.” Mack met and held Hunter’s gaze for several seconds, and if he was trying to intimidate him, it was working. 

Then he stepped away and Hunter relaxed only slightly as the three men turned and walked away from him. He watched them go, then looked over at Bobbi across the parking garage. She looked back at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before leaving as well. He noted, though, that she went in the opposite direction of Mack and the other two. What a bizarre way to meet new people, Hunter thought, not to mention bloody intimidating.

* * *

“Oh, _great._ ” Hunter sighed when he returned to where he’d left his bike locked to a pole. The chain had been cut and his bike was gone, but his helmet remained. Now he had to take the bus home _again_ , and tell Coulson he didn’t have a bike for the rest of the day. So much for getting a full day’s worth of deliveries, which meant an even smaller paycheck come next week. Somehow, he was going to have to make some extra cash. 

An idea occurred to him on the bus ride home that evening, and it pained him to even think about it. But he needed the money – desperately. 

Which was how he found himself packing up every last one of his tools into his large, heavy, ancient toolbox and letting a man rifle through it, hoping to god he would offer enough money for the whole thing to cover his rent for the month. 

“Lotta this stuff ain’t even worth takin’.” The man rifling through his toolbox commented, “But you got plenty o’ good tools in here, too.” 

Hunter shifted anxiously, waiting for his offer. He knew some of the tools in there, specifically the drill with several different bits would drive the price up given how new it was, but he didn’t know if it was enough. 

“Four-fifty’s best I can offer, son.” The man in a faded flannel and baseball cap half-turned to look at him. 

For a moment, Hunter didn’t say anything. Then, unsure, he said, “Thing is, mate, erm -my rent is five-fifty. I rent from the woman who owns this house, ‘nd she needs the money just as much as I do.” He felt pathetic, explaining why he needed the extra hundred bucks, but it was better than short-changing Elena Rodriguez as he’d been doing far too consistently for his liking. 

The man looked at him, and his expression softened slightly. He pulled a roll of cash out of his pocket and began counting hundreds. “-and fifty.” He finished, handing the money to Hunter, who took it with a grateful smile. 

“Thanks,” 

Hunter followed the man out of the garage, but stopped when he did, turning to look at his car. “How much for the muscle car, kid?” 

He gave the car a look, pressing his lips together. “It was my dad’s. ’Fraid I’m gonna have to hang onto it.” 

“Shame. It’s a nice car.” The man shook his head, but then lifted the toolbox in his direction. “Thanks for the tools; good luck on your car – could clean up real nice.” 

Hunter nodded, watching as the man turned again, and walked away. Well, at least he now had rent money – that was one weight off his shoulders. Now it was time to get to work finding another bike, or another job, or something – anything – to pay back Radcliffe and his gang.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, and thank you for reading! Please do let me know what you thought, comments are much appreciated. This is an ongoing project and I'll be posting chapters as I write them, meaning there won't be a set upload schedule (but don't worry, I don't plan on abandoning this halfway through, so you _will_ get the whole story). If you'd like to be notified when I do upload the next chapter, feel free to subscribe!


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